Internet Shakespeare Editions

Become a FriendSign in


Jump to line
Help on texts

About this text

  • Title: Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)
  • Textual editor: Eric Rasmussen
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-434-9

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)

    Ham. I will watch to nigh
    Perchaunce twill walke againe.
    Hora. I warn't it will.
    Ham. If it assume my noble fathers person,
    445Ile speake to it though hell it selfe should gape
    And bid me hold my peace; I pray you all
    If you haue hetherto conceald this sight
    Let it be tenable in your silence still,
    And what someuer els shall hap to night,
    450Giue it an vnderstanding but no tongue,
    I will requite your loues, so farre you well:
    Vppon the platforme twixt a leauen and twelfe
    Ile visite you.
    All. Our dutie to your honor. Exeunt.
    455Ham. Your loues, as mine to you, farwell.
    My fathers spirit (in armes) all is not well,
    I doubt some foule play, would the night were come,
    Till then sit still my soule, fonde deedes will rise
    Though all the earth ore-whelme them to mens eyes. Exit.
    Enter Laertes, and Ophelia his Sister.
    Laer. My necessaries are inbarckt, farwell,
    And sister, as the winds giue benefit
    And conuay, in assistant doe not sleepe
    465But let me heere from you.
    Ophe. Doe you doubt that?
    Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his fauour,
    Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood
    A Violet in the youth of primy nature,
    470Forward, not permanent, sweete, not lasting,
    The perfume and suppliance of a minute
    No more.
    Ophe. No more but so.
    Laer. Thinke it no more.
    For nature cressant does not growe alone
    475In thewes and bulkes, but as this temple waxes
    The inward seruice of the minde and soule
    Growes wide withall, perhapes he loues you now,
    And now no soyle nor cautell doth besmirch
    The vertue of his will, but you must feare,